Trifling Matters
by Hysterical rock
Summary: When two people meet for the first time, the usual discussion is something along the lines of 'hello, how are you, my, what nice weather today.' Not: 'get off my doorstep, you freaking pin-cushion.' A look at the lives of two very different people. First.


Something to note before reading this: It's set in a partial alternate universe, where Pein and Konan have completely unconnected childhoods. This is set at the beginning of their partnership in Akatsuki. x3

This is also our first fic on this account. :D

**.**

**Trifling Matters  
**_Lol! Trifle_

"Pein."

He looked up at his partner's call from his stationary position by the window, eyebrows raising slightly at the note of anger that hardened her normally soft and lilting tone as he gazed at her across the scarcely-furnished appartment. Ringed eyes met obsidian and locked, the male not bothering to hide his steadily increasing bafflement as she all but glared daggers at him, pale, suddenly cold face highlighted by a sudden streak of lightning from outside.

"Yes?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Stepping forward lightly over a rapidly forming puddle, she stuck out an abstinent finger, prodding him with barely disguised restraint in the chest before the slender digit moved to point at the ground. His gaze followed the line of sight, alighting on the rough plain expanse of the floor, where they stayed, examining, before his eyebrows came together slightly in confusion, and he looked back up at her.

"What is this?"

Pein's confusion grew. "The floor?"

By the irritated way her jaw clenched, this was not the correct answer. Restraining the urge to raise his hands in an attempt to placate her (she did not, as she'd calmly told him before, whilst paper knives attacked any exposed areas of his skin, appreciate being treated like a five-year-old), he rescanned the floor as his mind sifted quickly for the answer she was looking for.

The question was framed angrily, signalling displeasure, he could tell that much. And as the item in question was the floor, it was simple to assume that she was displeased with that. Although what she was displeased with, he could not discern. To him, it looked like it always did: worn, pine floorboards, warped by time and stained chestnut at some point but still doing what a floor was designed to do – provide a barrier between your feet and the dirt below. But then again, she was a woman, as she was frequently inclined to remind him, so perhaps the problem was more of a… feminine affair.

Satisfied with his logical analysis as the storm thrummed angrily outside and battered the loose panes of the window behind him, he schooled his posture and expression into a more understanding, open combination - a slightly difficult task for he rarely had to accommodate to the needs of anyone but himself, but there are times when one has to take the first step - and confidently put forward his answer.

"You'd prefer carpeting."

Smack!

He staggered backwards a step or two, forearm smarting from where he'd barely blocked his partner's furious slap. She didn't give him time to recover, as she marched smartly after him.

"The puddle, Pein," she intoned, her calm manner betrayed by the sheets of paper now whipping up in a deadly flurry around her as she stabbed one finger at the water steadily saturating the floor. "The hole in the ceiling. The one that _your storm_ is exacerbating. _That_ is what it is."

Coming to a halt a mere foot ahead of him, she held out a single sheet of paper, eyes never leaving his as she waved the piece crisply under the leaking section of roof and held it there as the slow drip of water quickly reduced it to a sodden mess.

"For as you can see," she continued, her control over her voice slipping as her anger swelled past her already-stretched bounds, "I'm not exactly _waterproof_."

Whipping her hand away from the leak, she threw the soggy lump at his surprised face before storming from the room, a paper trail flapping half heartedly behind her. Catching the impromptu missile before it came in contact with its target, he clenched it in his palm, fingers kneading it absently as he watched her retreating back.

She was... interesting, to say the least.


End file.
